by Tracy March
Liza pressed her lips together tightly. “I don’t think I could do that to Wes.”
“You wouldn’t be doing anything to Wes,” Paige said softly. “You’d be doing something for you. I’m so incredibly sorry but…hon, Wes isn’t here anymore. You’ve gotten used to grieving him, and sticking with that is painful, but it’s easier than taking a risk with Cole.”
Liza mulled over what Paige had said, wondering if she were right. Grieving Wes had been the center of her life for two years. It was what she knew. But it was sad and lonely, sharing her days with a ghost. The time she’d spent with Cole—when she’d let go and enjoyed herself—had been thrilling and just plain fun. And kissing him… She swallowed hard.
“You need to just do it,” Paige said. “Everyone seems to like him, at least everyone who came to the pie war. And all his fans. And me. I really like him.”
“Easy over there,” Liza joked. “He is a little likable, even with all that swagger.”
“If you were him, you’d have swagger, too. Look what he’s accomplished.”
Liza couldn’t argue. “He’s a lot like my dad.”
“Women marry men like their dads.”
“Whatever. Are you going to marry a barber?”
“Snippy, aren’t you?”
Liza rolled her eyes. “Maybe Cole and my dad are too much alike. Did you notice a weird vibe between them at the pie war?”
Paige thought about it as she strung several paper clips into a chain. “Nope. Guess I was too busy to pick up on it, if anything even happened.” She gave Liza a stern look. “It sounds like you’re digging for something else to keep you from getting closer to Cole.”
Liza wondered if that was it. Did she really need anything else? She did have her comfort zone grieving Wes, the possible loss of the job she loved, and five hundred thousand other reasons to keep her from falling for him. Why add something else? “I’m not, really.”
Paige gave her a sly smile. “Then prove it.”
…
Cole needed to blow off some steam. After two nights behaving himself in Miami, and two wins for the Nationals, they’d lost to the Marlins when they could’ve clinched the title—thanks to an error he made. His manager always said every play mattered in the win or loss, and one play couldn’t be blamed for the outcome. Cole bought into it when one of his teammates botched a play. But when it was his fault, that theory was bullshit.
How did I miss that damn throw? Lapses in concentration like that reminded him of his struggles in the minor league, and the blown plays that happened in his nightmares.
Cole had decided to stay in his cookie-cutter hotel room and sulk while his buddies went out and grabbed something to eat. He wasn’t hungry, and he didn’t want to commiserate about a loss he probably could’ve saved. Had his head been totally in the game?
Propped against several pillows on the bed, he played solitaire on his laptop, trying to distract himself. But he wasn’t really paying close attention and he quickly blew the game. Great—two-for-two tonight. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, thinking about Liza—because he couldn’t concentrate on anything else, especially since she’d told him the story of her fiancé. Unable to ignore his curiosity any longer, he clicked out of solitaire, Googled Wes Kelley, and followed several links.
It didn’t take him long to understand what Liza had seen in Wes. The guy had played college baseball at UVA—against Cole’s UNC team—then joined the Secret Service after he graduated. From what Cole read in the obituary and other tributes, Wes had been well liked, smart, and funny. What a waste that he’d died protecting a scummy dictator who’d been on a controversial visit to the US. To make things even worse, the dictator had been assassinated a few months later. Wes had been heralded as a hero, and rightfully so.
Cole clicked on a few more links and came across some engagement photos of Wes and Liza. They’d been taken by one of the rare talented photographers who could capture real emotions with a camera. Cole caught himself envying Wes for the way Liza looked at him in the pictures—with a sparkle of sincere devotion in her eyes. No wonder she was cautious now.
Cole got up, grabbed a Gatorade out of the mini-fridge, and drank half of it in three huge gulps. This night wasn’t getting any better. He’d lost the game for the Nats, and now he was knotted up with envy of a fallen hero. Liza would never look at him the way she’d looked at Wes in those pictures—especially if she found out about Frank’s plan. He slugged some more Gatorade and his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID.
Nikki Barlow.
It might as well have said Trouble. Frank would rip him a new one if he knew Cole had forgotten to block Nikki’s number after their recent run-in with the cops. He hadn’t heard from her since, so he wondered why she’d piped up tonight of all nights. Even so, he didn’t intend to find out. He let the call go and clicked through Liza’s engagement photos again, torn between sorrow for her and Wes, and envy of what he saw between them.
His phone rang again. Nikki. Man, things must be slow in Hollywood tonight. He ignored her call only to get a text from her seconds later.
Call me. I need ur help!!
Cole couldn’t imagine why she needed his help, but she might be in trouble. No doubt she had plenty of people she could turn to, but for some reason, she’d picked him. He hated to think what might happen if he ignored her. He hesitated as long as his conscience would let him, then called her. Frank wouldn’t like it, but he wouldn’t have to know. Certainly talking to Nikki on the phone wasn’t going to stop the Nats from offering Cole a new contract. Hell, if he kept making errors like he did tonight, they probably wouldn’t want him anyway.
“Hi, sexy,” Nikki answered, not sounding the least bit troubled. The base beat of a hip-hop tune thrummed in the background. “Saw the game on TV. Bummer.”
Not a good start. “For sure,” he said, hoping she’d leave it at that. “You need my help with something?”
“Yep. I’m in Miami, too—havin’ a little party out on the Venetian Islands. I need you to get on over here.”
“You’re not in trouble?”
“The only trouble is I’d rather be clubbing in South Beach, but I gotta keep a low profile for a while. This party’s just a few drinks. I can’t risk gettin’ busted again. Sorry ’bout that, by the way.”
“Me, too.” The drama with Nikki sure hadn’t helped his case with the Nats. He wasn’t even sure why he’d bothered with her in the first place.
“I definitely owe you one,” she said sweetly. “So why don’t you come hang out with me?”
“I don’t think so, Nik.” Most men would question his sanity for turning down Nikki Barlow, but it came out of his mouth with no hesitation.
“Aw, c’mon. You have to be feeling a little down…”
…after how you played in the game tonight.
“You deserve to relax a little,” she said.
He did, didn’t he? But he shouldn’t… “I appreciate the invite, but I’m just gonna hang in my room.”
“Please, Cole. I really feel bad about what happened. Let me treat you to a drink or two.”
He could use a drink or two. And spending a few hours relaxing with a small group might help him get his head back in the game. Cole hesitated, but then said, “I can probably make it for a little while.”
“I’ll text you the address,” she said. “Hurry.”
Cole opened his suitcase and pulled out a decent pair of jeans to wear, knowing he should think this through before he went. But he didn’t want to think any more tonight.
He took a cab out to the island, second-guessing himself all the way, but not enough to change his mind. It was a private party. Frank would never know. And neither will Liza. The cab stopped in front of a huge two-story villa, all lit up outside, with an ornate, cut-glass front
door. Cole paid the driver and got out. He stood and gazed at the house as the cab pulled away, the muted thrum of bass reverberating in the balmy sea breeze. He’d expected to be more relaxed by now, and ready to party. But he’d started thinking about how bad things turned out the last time he saw Nikki, and wondering why he’d even want to see her again.
Cole vividly remembered the night they’d had their run-in with the cops. He’d been seduced by the idea of being with Nikki Barlow—the woman whom literally millions of men fantasized about every day. But she hadn’t been all that, really, with her slurred words and revealing clothes, and her messy dyed-black hair and heavy makeup. She wasn’t anywhere near as fresh and sexy as Liza, who was always tastefully dressed, with her silky hair shimmering. Cole loved Liza’s look—beautiful with little makeup on and those freckles dotted lightly across her nose. But it wasn’t just how she looked that kept him thinking about her. She still knew him better than anyone, and she’d given him a chance in spite of her own struggles. He wondered what would happen if he just let go and allowed himself to fall for her. Was it possible for him to give up the lifestyle he’d been hiding behind and commit to something meaningful?
Most men probably thought he lived a fantasy life with his success in baseball, all his wealth, and plenty of willing women. But those girls only wanted him for money and fame. They’d been easy to find and hard to get rid of sometimes, but that was the only choice he had. He couldn’t settle down with one woman. It simply hadn’t been an option. In his position, he could never be sure if a girl was sincere. So he’d kept things light and he’d kept things changing and he’d kept everything to himself.
But now there was Liza. Taking a chance with her daunted and excited him, but he was ready to start right now. He stared at the villa and everything became clear. Liza was definitely more important to him than going to any party, no matter how many Hollywood starlets were there.
Cole turned away from the villa, walked a few blocks until he reached the Venetian Causeway, and called a cab. He waited, hoping the cops wouldn’t pick him up for loitering, and texted Nikki. Can’t make it tonight after all. Thanks for the invite. And then he blocked her number from his phone.
After a few minutes of staring into the distance, he took a picture of the view over the water of Miami Beach beneath a starry sky, and attached it to a tweet.
Cole Collins @ColeCollins
@LizaSutherland A girl without freckles is like a night without stars. Wish you were here…
Frank would love that one. But Cole hadn’t done it for Frank, or the hope of a new contract with the Nats. He’d sent the tweet for himself—and Liza—and just hoped she was awake to see it.
The cab arrived pretty soon after that. Cole got in and gave the driver his hotel’s address. Within minutes, his phone chirped.
Liza?
He glanced at the screen and his stomach clenched.
Nikki Barlow @CrazyNikkiB
Hey @ColeCollins Wish you woulda stayed tonite. Now U owe me 1
Shit. She must have seen him outside the villa.
…
Cole hadn’t even made it to the hotel before Frank called. No doubt he’d seen Nikki’s tweet. The guy never missed anything. Cole wondered how he had the time and energy to keep up with all the athletes he represented—all the way down to their Twitter accounts. It crossed Cole’s mind that most of them probably didn’t worry Frank the way he did.
“Hey,” he said, gazing out the window as the cab whisked through Miami.
“Wanna tell me about that tweet from Nikki Barlow?” Frank asked in a fed-up tone.
Cole heard a television in the background. He imagined Frank sitting in a big leather chair in the great room of his sprawling Northern Virginia home, watching West Coast ball games on several flat screens mounted on the wall. His place was like a country club sports bar.
“Not really,” he said. “I got it under control.”
“The hell you do, son.” Ice cubes clinked into a glass. Time for another scotch. “Does getting another contract with the Nationals really matter to you? Because takin’ up with Nikki Barlow is about the quickest way to ensure that you won’t.”
Cole had known he was making a stupid decision to go anywhere near Nikki’s party. At least he’d gotten his head straight and stopped himself before he went in the villa—but not before she had seen him. He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m not taking up with Nikki.”
“That’s just what the honchos at the Nats need to see—you gettin’ tweets from Crazy Nikki saying she wished you’d spent the night.” Frank sounded righteously pissed. “And what’s Liza gonna think when she sees it? What respectable girl would want to touch you after you’d been foolin’ around with that Hollywood trash?”
“We weren’t fooling around,” Cole said. “I didn’t even see her.”
“Those lies might work with the ladies, but don’t even try ’em with me. We had a deal. No other women except Liza until after contract negotiations. You’re not just blowing your chances with the Nats; other teams won’t look at you either if you can’t stay away from the parties and keep your pants on.”
Cole clenched his teeth and stared at a hole in the worn backseat of the cab. Thoughts of Liza had kept him from going in to Nikki’s party, but Frank would never believe that, especially after he’d pretty much called Cole a liar. “I’ve kept my end of the deal.” Air hissed on the line and Cole imagined Frank taking a long drag of his cigar. He waited for the exhale, and it came a few seconds later.
“Say what you will, but it damn sure doesn’t look like it. If you can’t take your career seriously, then I sure as hell can’t. I don’t need your kind of trouble. I’m all set for money, son. And I’ve got a roster of top guys—more than I can handle. No need to waste my time negotiating for you. Either straighten up or find a new agent.”
Cole sat there, blindsided, his heart hammering. Outside of his teammates and coaches, only three people meant anything to him—Mack and Brenda, and Frank. And Liza? How many of them was he willing to alienate?
“I understand,” Cole said.
Frank cleared his throat, as if he’d been getting ready to say something but decided not to. “Then you and I are square. Now you need to figure out how to handle this with Liza.”
Chapter Twelve
Liza sat at her desk on Thursday morning, preparing to go through the motions of making Frank’s donation process look official. She’d asked him to come to the foundation today so Ross and her coworkers could see her making an honest effort at fund-raising.
An honest effort?
Okay, an effort—not necessarily an honest one. She certainly wasn’t being honest with Cole, or maybe even with herself. If she were, she’d admit she wanted to talk with Frank about more than his donation. She’d woken up this morning to a heart-flipping tweet from Cole. Interested to find out what else he’d been up to, she’d clicked on his home feed and seen the stomach-clenching tweet from Nikki Barlow. Jealousy had bitten her and kept gnawing. No matter how hard she’d tried to shake it, she couldn’t stop imagining them together and wondering what had gone on. Had Cole kissed Nikki the way he’d kissed her? She’d immediately called Frank, figuring his donation would be a sure thing now, so she might as well have him play the big-donor part.
Her office phone rang and she answered quickly. ���Hi, Carla,” she said to the foundation’s motherly receptionist, whose name appeared on the caller ID.
“Mr. Frank Price is here to see you.”
“Thanks,” Liza said. “I’ll be out in a second.”
She let Frank wait a little, hoping some of her coworkers would see him and start asking Carla questions. That would pave the path perfectly for his donation to look legit when it came in.
Just as Liza stood and smoothed her skirt, her phone pinged with a text message
. She glanced at the text and her heart pitched. Cole. Twitter wasn’t working out too well for him so he’d resorted to texting?
Wanna come to Philly tomorrow night? Baseball history in the making—division title on the line. Tix for you at Will Call.
No mention of the tweet from Nikki Barlow.
She let the message sit and went out to greet Frank under Carla’s watchful gaze.
“Mr. Price,” Liza said, “so nice of you to come.”
Frank gave her an easy smile and stood. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, and shook her hand firmly with the other. “My pleasure, Miss Sutherland.” He looked business casual dressed in black slacks and a mint-green oxford shirt.
“It’s such a beautiful day, why don’t we have our meeting in the courtyard, then I’ll show you around?”
He followed her several steps, then turned back toward the receptionist. “Nice to meet you, Miss Carla.” He tipped his cup to her and winked. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Liza turned to see Carla blushing. Like agent, like client. Frank and Cole sure had a way with the women.
She led him out into the brick-walled courtyard to a wrought iron table and chairs nestled beneath one of the ginkgo trees. Ross and several of her coworkers had a view of the courtyard from their offices on the second and third floors. She hoped they’d all take notice of her meeting—especially Ross.
“Nice setup y’all have here,” Frank said as they sat at the table. He glanced up at the back of the antique-brick townhouse and around the courtyard, his gaze resting on a cluster of mums. “Lots of orange.”
Liza gave him a half smile. “Go Orioles.”
He nodded, and things were awkwardly silent for a moment. “You want to talk about Cole?”
Liza was happy to bypass more small talk. “You saw his Twitter feed, right?”
Frank pursed his lips and nodded. “That starry sky one he sent you was pretty darn romantic.”